


Deeper understanding

by Soul Sistah Slash (Batagur)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-24
Updated: 2010-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:52:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batagur/pseuds/Soul%20Sistah%20Slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney forgets what it is like to be Rodney McKay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deeper understanding

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the plot chicken loaded in my muse's shotgun by mice1900
> 
> Many thanks to my trusty beta AmazonX who accomplished this beta read while battling summertime illness. She is one of the most awesome betas ever!

"Rodney?"

He awoke in a semi dark room, lying on a comfortable bed. A curtain to his right and bare wall to his left triggered a mild anxiety. Things were too close. He felt boxed in. He swallowed and took a deep breath. Looking further to his right, he found the source of the voice that had woke him.

The man was average height with black hair and blue eyes. His face looked a little careworn, a little haggard. He could have used a shave. The man wore a white lab coat and his hand rested casually on the side of the bed.

"Rodney?" The man looked right at him.

He blinked up at the man, confused. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know where he had been. He didn't know his own name. He didn't know what to say, so he just looked up at the man. After a second, the man pulled a pen-light from his lab coat's pocket. Very carefully the man shined the light into his eye while holding it gently open with his thumb. He flicked the light back and forth a few times, making sharp sparks of pain stab briefly in his brain. He already had a headache. The light's movement only made it worse.

He flinched.

"Sorry, Rodney," The man said, resting his hand on his shoulder and giving it a small squeeze. "Ye took quite a fall. We were lucky there were no skull or spinal fractures, but I'm not feelin' comfortable with letting you go back to yer room tonight. Ye'll stay here. I canna give ya something for the pain just yet, but I will when I know you're good for it."

"Is Rodney my name?" He spoke so softly that he wasn't sure that the man heard him at first. Then the man's brow drew down in a concerned frown.

"Rodney?"

"Is that my name?" he asked again.

"Yes," The man answered. He looked him over carefully. The pen-light came out again. "What do ye remember?"

He thought. He tried. Nothing came to the forefront of his mind. He remembered waking there with that man with a Scottish accent calling him Rodney.

Scottish accent? How did he know that? The man was a doctor or a medical professional of some sort. The white lab coat and the pen-light to the eyeballs was the hint to that conclusion.

He knew his ABCs and 123s; he knew how to do differential equations. He knew that Halifax was the capital of the providence of Nova Scotia, but he couldn't remember his own name? He didn't know anything about himself. He didn't know who he was, how he came to be there in that hospital or clinic, or whatever it was.

"I don't know," he answered the doctor's question with a soft, grave hopelessness.

"Do ye know where you are? Do ye know me a t'all?"

He looked at the man. Blue eyes, black hair, Scottish accent, a fleeting flash of a smile, a moment of anxiety soothed, a second of deeper understanding, but it was gone so quickly that he wondered if it had been real at all. He ought to know this man.

"I should know you."

The man's eyes brightened with hope.

"…but I don't." He shook his head, but that only made his headache throb with new life. He grimaced as the pain became too much.

"Careful," The man said gently. Then he added, "Your name is Rodney McKay."

He nodded shallowly and gasped as that little movement sent a wave of nausea to the front of his condition.

"Do ye know where you are?"

"No," he gasped, gulping air in the hopes of staving off his stomach's rebellion.

"What's the last thing ye remember?"

"You know, I'd really love to cooperate with you as you assess my level of mental scramble, but I think I ought to inform you that my stomach, quiet beyond my immediate desires, intends to soil you shoes very soonish!"

The doctor had a small kidney shaped tray before him faster than he could open his mouth to release the first wave. The man supported his shoulders as he was rendered shaking by the painful, compulsory heaving.

"Ye never cease to amaze me, Rodney," the man said softly, letting him rest his weight against him.

Once he was done, the man put the container aside. "My name is Carson Beckett. I'm yer doctor and yer friend."

Rodney nodded. The nausea was receding to a more acceptable level.

"Ye are in Atlantis."

Rodney lifted a hand to his head, rubbing his brow. He didn't open his eyes. "Excuse me? Atlanta? Georgia?"

"Nay, Rodney. Atlantis."

"What? Is that some sort of theme park?"

He heard the man snort a small laugh. "Not exactly."

He looked up at the man, Carson Beckett. He wore a small, careful smile that spoke a warning to him. "Is this something I don't want to know about or just something I should wait to know about?"

"I would wait if I was ye," Carson Beckett said. His smile became more compassionate. "Ye need ta rest aina way. We'll talk more later."

He closed his eyes, expecting to hear Carson Beckett's retreating footsteps. He didn't. He fell asleep never hearing when the doctor left his side.  
~*~

The fall had been terrifying to watch. It had made John wish Rodney had still had that personal safety shield thingy. He should have never challenged the stubborn McKay to climb up the Jumper bay wall to show him where the second manual release was. Pretending that he didn't believe him had just been a game to get on the arrogant scientist's nerves. Rodney always liked to boast that there was nothing about Ancient technology that he couldn't figure out. He was very versed on the Ancients' love of redundant systems. John knew that Rodney had probably been very right.

Forcing him to prove it by use of his excessive ego had been too easy, and John had only hoped to get a giggle out of watching Rodney sweat a few feet up, but Rodney kept going higher and higher. Soon he was close to eighteen feet above the bay floor. John hadn't been too worried. He could survive a fall from there and he trusted that Rodney knew what he was doing. It had seemed fine. But then Rodney had slipped without warning. There had been no fumbling and catching. There hadn't been any breathless moments of near misses. Rodney had just slipped and fell, shrieking the complete drop like a girl.

He had hit almost too entirely on his head and John had had a moment of sickening dread, not unlike what he had felt when he had seen his friend Mitch's Black Hawk go down over Kabul. John had known better than to try and move him. John had called the medical emergency, and then checked Rodney for a pulse.

He owed Rodney one hell of an apology and he had intended to give it until Carson stopped him on his way to Rodney's bedside.

"The concussion has given him severe amnesia. He couldn't even tell me his own name."

"Huh?" John boggled. Amnesia? Wasn't that just a plot device for soap operas? "Is he going to be okay?"

Carson sighed. "I'm gonna run more test, but so far there doesn't seem to be any brain swelling. I want to do a CT scan, but I need to wait a wee bit. His trauma is too fresh and I might miss a developing hematoma."

"Could this be permanent?" John asked, his brain rolling over all the implications. He wondered how effective as a scientist Rodney could be with amnesia. He wondered what it was he could remember and how much of his life was a blank. He wondered if Rodney remembered him.

"Let's hope not," Carson replied.  
~*~

When he awoke again, nothing much had changed except that Carson Beckett was gone from his bedside and the nausea was nearly all gone. He felt a bit hungry. Nevertheless, the only reason he knew his name was Rodney McKay was because Carson Beckett had told him so.

He lay very still, thinking. What was the last thing he could remember? Images flashed weakly in his minds eye, fading too fast for him to grasp the meaning of them. It was like his whole life was on the very tip of his tongue. It was enormously frustrating.

The man that rounded the corner of the partition curtain was a tall, handsome creature wearing a military uniform. The first thing that struck Rodney about him was his mouth. For some reason, the word delicious came to mind as he saw the shapely lips. Even pulled down in a slight frown, the man's mouth invoked a small spark of lust in Rodney.

"Hey, Rodney," the man sighed. There was deep concern in his eyes. Rodney knew he should know this man, just as he had known that he should have known Carson Beckett.

Rodney did not reply right away. He wasn't really sure what to say… other than 'hello.'

"Hello."

"Um…"

"No, sir, I don't know who you are; so you have me at a slight disadvantage," Rodney said sharply.

"I see you haven't lost any attitude." The man replied, but then he smiled. He was a sincerely beautiful man. "John… I'm John Sheppard. We're friends."

"Good to know," Rodney said with a small nod.

"Um…"

Rodney looked at the man. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable and was unsure of what to say. "Look, John… I did call you John, didn't I?"

The man shrugged. "Ah… Sometimes…not a lot. Mostly you called me Sheppard."

"Okay, whatever." Rodney couldn't stop the eye roll. He went on in a brisk, acerbic tone. "I appreciate that you care enough to see how I am, but as you can tell, I'm probably not the Rodney you are currently use too…"

"No, you're fine." Sheppard smiled. Rodney blinked at the man. "You're gonna be just fine." The man then mischievously mussed Rodney's hair and beeped his nose before turning on his heels and exiting the room.

Rodney sat there stunned for a moment. He lay back and thought about his encounter with the tall man named John Sheppard.  
~*~

"Am I in the military?" Rodney asked Carson the next time he saw him.

The doctor smiled as he continued looking at the gage of the blood pressure cuff. "Nay, Rodney. Ye are too much a force all yer own."

"I called you Carson," he said with certainty. The man looked up at him and Rodney was struck by how kind his smile was. Carson was well suited for his profession. His touch was gentle and his voice was soothing. He looked like he cared.

"There was a man in here earlier…"

"Colonel Sheppard?" Carson asked.

"Yeah, he said his name was Sheppard," Rodney continued. "He… he said he was my friend."

Carson nodded. "He is."

"Okay."  
~*~

Atlantis was a giant floating city in the middle of a planet that was mostly ocean. The planet was in the middle of another galaxy some 2.5 million light-years from the Milky Way galaxy, Sol (the Sun) and Terra (Earth). Rodney Mckay was the chief scientist on the expedition to this galaxy.

After meeting with the expedition's leader, Dr Elizabeth Weir, Rodney was given access to mission logs and laboratory logs to help jog his memory. Much like the other's he had met, Elizabeth Weir looked familiar, but he just couldn't tie down the memories. She introduced herself immediately, all the same. She seemed kind and genuinely concerned for Rodney's well-being. She left him telling him that they would not bother him during his convalescence. Carson had thought it would be better to ease him back into the expedition's society.

The CT scans had shown no serious damage. Carson told Rodney that he believed the amnesia would only be temporary. Eventually his memory would come back in pieces. It would slowly coalesce in his consciousness, and Rodney may never completely realize when it was totally all back..

"The fact that you think you should know us is good," Carson had said.

Next he was sent to see a woman named Kate Heightmeyer. She was obviously the expeditions psychiatric professional. She concurred with Carson Beckett's assessment of his situation. Rodney was released from the infirmary and allowed to go back to his own quarters to recover.

His quarters looked very unfamiliar to him and that left him a little unnerved. After having been in the situation of having people around him appearing vaguely familiar, he expected his own living quarters to at least have that same feel of vague familiarity. They didn't. He felt a little adrift in them. There was nothing to anchor to. Nothing felt like his own. He had to leave.

He walked a good portion of the West City that day; and still nothing stood out as familiar. People in corridors nodded and smiled as he passed them. A few acknowledged him as Dr. McKay. The military personnel nodded with great respect. Some even snapped to attention and called him "sir" as he accessed different facility corridors.

Some of it was very obscurely familiar, but most of it was as foreign and alien as his own quarters. He went back.

He began consuming the mission logs. There were many references to him. Other names jumped out as being interesting: Teyla Emmagan, Lt. Ford, Ronan Dex, and of course Lt. Col. Sheppard. He wondered if he would recognize any of these other individuals when he saw them.

Then he read that Ford was gone. For a brief second, he felt troubled. He couldn't remember knowing the man and yet there was a twinge of grief in his heart for him. He must have known him. He wished he could remember him.

The next day he stood naked before a mirror, examining his own body. The familiarity of his own skin was its own enigma. He had scars, some big and some small; none of which he could remember the origin. He was an average looking man. His body was not overly fat or unattractive, but he also was not incredibly fit either. He looked down at his genitalia. Average again. No surprises there, and in a way that was comforting.

Upon touching himself, he reacted readily. His flesh, starved for such attention, responded. He closed his eyes not looking for any particular erotic vision to fuel the arousal he nurtured. He was content to let his own hand care for him. It was enough. He ran his other hand down the line of his own body, smoothing over his chest, down his side and circling back over a buttock. Yes, that felt very good.

For a second, an image tickled to life at the very fringes of his mind's eye. It was sex, yes. A man, a mouth like silk about him. Beautiful. Firm arms holding him. Hands squeezing his buttocks. Hush! Secret! Don't tell! Don't ever tell! Want. Want. Please, make me come! Oh god, JOHN!

He orgasmed, reeling back to his senses. His thighs shaking, he leaned heavily against a wall. He still held his softening member in his hand, his belly was speckled in semen. His mind had taken him by surprise, supplying him with a clear image of Lt. Col. John Sheppard on his knees before him, giving him one fabulous blow job.

So many emotions crowded his mind to confuse him. Was it real or just a fantasy? Was it just that luscious mouth inspired him, or had he actually experienced it at some time? Was the 'don't tell' about the fantasy, or was it John trying to protect his military commission?

Rodney sat down on the edge of his bed feeling more alone than he felt any one should be. He was alienated by his own mind and he didn't know where to begin to come back to the place in this world he was told was his own. He needed a place to start. He needed grounding.

The next day he sought out Carson Beckett.  
~*~

The doctor was a busy man, but he made a free moment for Rodney, taking him out of the infirmary and up to a different level of the city complex. He sat him down at a table in the busy commissary; then went up to retrieve some lunch.

"Here, Rodney," he said as he sat the tray of food before him. "They had some sort of fruity lemon cake but I remembered yer citrus allergy. The cooks usually don't make a lot of the dessert options."

"I have a citrus allergy?"

"I'm afraid so."

Rodney understood that a citrus allergy could be a very bad and highly unpleasant. Yes, he could remember…

"When I was thirteen, I was on a plane. The person who had been in the seat before me on a connecting flight had drank grapefruit juice. He spilled and left a residue all over the seat tray. I swelled up like a balloon."

"Ye remembered," Carson said encouragingly.

Rodney blinked and rubbed his eyes; the place where that memory had bubbled forth had receded back again. It was gone, allowing no more glimpses into his past, but that one memory of hives and near anaphylaxis at twenty thousand feet remained.

Carson was silent, waiting, Rodney was sure. He didn't know how to tell the doctor that there was nothing more to remember. The frustration was almost unbearable.

"I hate being a stranger to myself," Rodney said, he knew the seething frustration was what was putting the hostile edge in his voice.

"It must feel horribly frustrating," Carson agreed.

"Your gift for understatement seems vaguely familiar in an irritating way too."

Carson didn't seem to get upset with Rodney's caustic statement, which was interesting to Rodney. Instead, the man smiled like one who expects and understands behavior from a certain source. Obviously, Carson knew Rodney McKay enough not to take offense to the off-handed, sarcastic wisecrack. Rodney seemed to have a never-ending supply of such temper that, so far, seemed to be his norm. What had Colonel Sheppard said the first time he had saw him? "I see you haven't lost any attitude."

"Give it time, Rodney," Carson said in a gently compassionate tone. Rodney looked up into the man's eyes. For a moment he felt bewildered and adrift again.

"How did I get hurt in the first place?"

"Ye took a terrible fall in the Jumper bay," Carson replied. "I guess ye was lookin' for a manual release to the bay doors."  
~*~

The Jumper bay, out of all the places in the whole city, seemed very familiar. Here, little memories tip-toed just out of reach and peeped about corners. He walked the bay slowly, looking over each squat, rectangular craft. A few engineers worked about the place. One, a short man with light brown hair and glasses, looked familiar to him. He knew he should know that man.

Rodney approached him. The man turned, looking Rodney over warily. But he stuck his hand forward in greeting.

"Rodney? I am Radek Zelenka." The man spoke very, very slowly and clearly. He had an accent.

"Thank you," Rodney said.

"Is there any thing I can help you with?" The man spoke once more very slowly, enunciating each word in a manner that Rodney found utterly irritating.

"Yes, you may help me," Rodney countered using the same slow cadence in his own tone. "Shut up and leave me alone."

The man Zelenka bristled slightly but turned away without a word. Rodney felt a small spike of spiteful triumph juice his veins. He liked making this little Zelenka guy bristle. It was fun.

But he turned away from Zelenka, who was working on a Jumper with a scorched right rear fuselage. Rodney wasn't sure if he knew how that Jumper sustained damage. He didn't try to force the memory.

He walked about, still feeling that strange since of familiarity that actually became comforting as time passed. He had memories here. They were just out of reach, but they were here, waiting for him.

He looked up the forty-foot shaft to the circular bay door.

 _"You are so full of yourself, McKay. You know, you are not always right."_

"Look, who's the expert here on Ancient technology, me or you? I didn't think so, Colonel Wise Ass. Just back up and let me show you."

The memory stopped there. He could see Colonel Sheppard's face, sweetly mocking, and gruffly affectionate. He remembered looking back down at the man from a height, seeing those lips curving in a smile at him. Those lips: the entrance to a satin paradise….

Rodney shook himself from the recollection. The bay was too busy with engineers to let himself slip into such an intimate memory. Rodney left the Jumper bay.  
~*~

John Sheppard visited him that evening and Rodney felt flustered. He didn't know what to say to the man. Fortunately, the Colonel, for whatever reason, carried the conversation, briefing him on mission happenings and just chatting on how he was feeling.

He left after about ten minutes of conversation and Rodney felt more frustrated than ever. He wished he understood the nature of his relationship with John Sheppard. It was obvious that he found the man attractive, but there was more. He just knew there was a lot more. His first instinct was to go once more to Carson Beckett. By some unknown design, the doctor's presence was a calming influence.

Carson was still at work despite the late hour, pouring over case notes, but he stopped readily enough and took Rodney aside. He sat him down at a small table just beyond the ward and nurses station and sat a cup of coffee before him.

"It bugs me, some of my memories," he said to Carson. "I don't have a point of reference to connect them to."

"What in particular is buggin' ye?"

"Personal relationships." He took a sip of the coffee. It was strong and black. Carson liked it strong and black. He remembered, but he felt that not so significant in the grand scheme of things that he needed to report it.

Carson nodded.

"I don't know how to tell someone that I have certain memories about him and I don't know if they are real."

"How so then?"

"I don't know… I shouldn't have bothered you with this."

"Rodney, my door is always open to ye."

Carson touched his shoulder and looked in his eyes. A quiet shiver raced through him as he felt a memory try to breach the surface. His heart pounded in his chest. This wasn't lust like it was with Sheppard.  
~*~

In the quiet of his room, in the first hours of morning a memory came to him that was as troubling as it was beautiful. It took his breath away.

 _"I love ye…"_

"Carson!" He had buried his face in the man's shoulder, inhaling the warm, musky scent of him. He had then turned his face into the kiss that waited for him. Carson had tasted sweet. His lips had parted readily and Rodney lost control, gripping him tightly as he let his tongue plunge deeply into Carson's willing mouth. Yes, Carson! Love you, Carson!

He had lain on a bed naked, trembling with anticipation. He had lain on his stomach, pillows beneath his hips. It had been Carson behind him. It had been Carson who gently parted his buttocks. It had been Carson's lips and Carson's tongue that made electric contact against his opening, making him tremble and sweat; making him beg. It had been Carson whose fingers tenderly opened him and prepared him.

He had wanted Carson. He had more than wanted Carson. His desire had run deeper than just lust for fornication. He had wanted Carson. He had wanted all of the man. He had wanted his heart. He had wanted his soul. He had wanted forever.

"Want to watch you inside me…" Rodney remembered. It had been sweet, so sweet.

 

Was it real?

It felt so real. He had to know. He lay in his bed, not daring to move. Suddenly, the unfamiliar was a safer place. This existence in a life full of holes and half memories was an absolute mine field that Rodney didn't particularly care to navigate. Whose lover was he? Or was his mind making up stories based on his deepest hidden desires.

The memory of John Sheppard in the Jumper bay had been real, all of it. It had to be. John had taunted him. Rodney had been at some height, looking down on him. That was real. Yes.

Carson? What could he remember about Carson Beckett? It was all short images, flashes, and impressions of emotions. Carson was a point of calm in a storm of uncertainty. Carson was his anchor in the hurricane.

Hurricane.

Big, big hurricane. A man, he wanted the city. He cut Rodney. Carson was stuck on the mainland in a Jumper. John was on the run!

The memory came in like a rush and fury much like hurricane winds. It left Rodney breathless and trembling. A cold sweat broke on his flesh as he remembered how close to death they all came.

That was real. That was very real. Yes, he remembered reading about such an event in the mission logs.

 _"Carson?"_

"Rodney?"

"Just in time to see how it all ends?"

It was a real memory, looking over and seeing Carson, knowing he was safe with him, and thank god he had let Elizabeth talk him into waiting.

Carson Beckett was his friend. However, was or is Carson Beckett his lover? Yes, he cared for him quite deeply. He would not deny that of himself now. But just how did Carson feel about him. He was sure the mission logs would have nothing about that.  
~*~

John Sheppard appeared at his door again that following day, inviting him to come and eat at the commissary.

"You've been a bit anti-social, Rodney. I think being around people will help your memories more than hiding away."

"Have I ever been a highly social being?"

Sheppard shrugged, looking perplexed. "Well, that's mostly because people find you difficult to get along with." At least the man was truthful.

Rodney scoffed derisively. "No thank you, Colonel." Rodney turned, retreating from his doorway.

"Come on, McKay," the Colonel followed Rodney into his rooms. "You can't stay locked in here forever."

"I don't plan on it."

"Really?" The Colonel's tone was a challenge. Rodney recognized it as such. It was a game they played. Yes, he remembered this game. The Colonel would goad him into doing things he really didn't want to do by challenging him, by taking advantage of his pride. It wouldn't work this time.

"Yes, that is the truth. I plan to leave this room as soon as the Daedalus returns."

The Colonel's mouth dropped open. "You're leaving?"

The man was indeed very fast with deduction. Rodney turned to look at him. "Yep. I'm outta here. Buh-bye."

Sheppard frowned. "The Rodney McKay I know was never a quitter."

"Fascinating!" Rodney said in mock engrossment. "Maybe, just maybe, I'm not the Rodney McKay you knew?"

"Don't give me that bullshit, McKay."

"Hey, what's it to you?" Rodney was starting to get aggressively irritated with Sheppard's insistence in the matter.

"It matters to me. You matter to me." The young Colonel looked down at his shoes for a second then back into McKay's eyes. "You're my friend."

"Feeling guilty about making me climb that wall?" Where did that come from? Rodney didn't have time to be shocked by the revelation that emerged from his own lips. He was to busy feeling anger towards the man who stood in the middle of his room, imposing his presence on his life again.

"God, Rodney…"

"Stop it!" Rodney demanded as rage took hold of him. "I'm not your fucking toy."

The Colonel stepped closer. "Rodney," he whispered as his hand came up to caress the side of his face. Rodney froze in a sudden rush of paralyzing uncertainty. Sheppard's lips came down softly on his. The kiss was tender and sweet, and it answered a whole bunch of questions.

"Not your toy…." Rodney's voice broke on the words as he tried to say them again. John's lips reclaimed his, stopping any other protest he had in mind.

Sheppard's lover? Sheppard's toy? Rodney was utterly lost in confusion. The memories that he had actively desired now returned in a deluge of chaos, flooding his consciousness with a thousand conflicting emotions.

"You know I didn't mean it," Sheppard whispered between gentle kisses. He backed Rodney to the wall of his small sitting room. "You scared the bejeezus outta me when you fell."

"Really?" Rodney asked. "I guess you were wondering where you could find a new bitch to replace me."

Sheppard released him. "Dammit, Rodney!" Anger lit his pale eyes. "It was never like that!"

Rodney watched the man. Sheppard's face colored in anger and he looked more hurt than affronted, but Rodney knew that John Sheppard just wanted a fuck buddy.

Rodney McKay wanted to be in love.

It wasn't that John didn't care for him. John did, in his own way. Regardless, it would never be what Rodney really wanted. And as he looked at the man, Rodney knew that even if John had offered more, it was too little, too late.

"Look, John…"

"You are not going to leave."

"It's over," Rodney continued calmly. "It's been over for a while. I'm sorry."

"Of all the shit to remember, you remember that," Sheppard said bitterly. "You're still not leaving."

"I don't know," Rodney admitted. "I don't know. I need some time, okay. I want to be alone."

John looked hesitant, but after a moment, he nodded, backing away towards the door. "You know where to find me."

Rodney avoided eye contact. "Yeah, just beyond the corridor labeled 'don't ask, don't tell.'"

John looked as if he would respond but then turned suddenly and left. Rodney exhaled. One memory complete; one mystery solved. Rodney had never wanted Carson's presence more, but he knew not to go.

He and Carson were not lovers. That much had been the fantasy. It had to be.  
~*~

He had had six days before the Daedalus' return to weigh his options. Much like Carson and Kate Heightmeyer had said, his memories were returning, each one like a portion of a billion-piece puzzle, clicking into place. Everyday he woke up with a little more of his scrambled life back into place. It didn't help what revelations were occurring to him as an estranged observer of his own life and behavior.

There wasn't much he would have done differently, but of the things he would have had different, they were enormous in the scope and influence on his life. It was a renewed chance to kick himself over the stupid shit. How pleasant.

Rodney figured that boarding the Daedalus would be tantamount to trying to run away from his own past life choices. It was over. He was here. He had a job to do. John had been right. Rodney McKay really didn't quit. He pissed and moaned, but he didn't quit.

At the end of two weeks, he could honestly say, he had more than seventy percent of his memory back and if he didn't remember someone, it was mostly because they were not very memorable to begin with. He was well enough.

He returned to Carson Beckett for a medical assessment of his condition.

"You remember aina-thing more?"

"I remember that you dislike gate travel, you have scar on your left leg where you fell playing football, and your mother grows petunias."

Carson smiled. "Very good."

The doctor ordered another CT scan and then berated him on his blood pressure.

"Carson, I don't have time for stress management. If you hadn't noticed, were are in a galaxy far, far away with an enemy who thinks we are tasty with a little chardonnay."

Carson shook his head, disappointed. "Rodney, ye are incorrigible, but never mind. It'll have ta do."

"Thank you." Rodney said, testily, as he hopped up off the exam table.

"I'll see ye later, Rodney."

Rodney nodded with a small smile and left for central control.  
~*~

That same evening, after consuming what the commissary labeled meat loaf, but would have passed better as hockey puck pâté, Rodney stretched out on his bed wondering if he should get a head start on some work tomorrow, or if he should just slack about and watch one of the new movies loaded on the city's main frame for personal download. Atlantis movies on demand were the best and brightest thing the Daedalus had brought to them.

Stress management, bah! What could be more stress free than sitting around his room in his boxers watching the latest summer movies? Mindless entertainment! He hoped one of them was a retro-teenage-sex-comedy. He was in the mood for that.

The knock at his door brought an exasperated sigh from him. He really didn't feel like getting decent for company. He threw on his robe and stomped over to the door.

"What?"

"Rodney." It was Carson. Rodney hit the door release more from reflex than from conscious thought. Carson stood on the other side of the door holding his black canvas medical pack.

"I didn't call a medical emergency," Rodney said, frowning in puzzlement.

"Ye remember my mother's petunias but ye can't remember yer stress management?" Carson chuckled as he pushed past Rodney into the room. He opened the bag pulling out a bottle that was not standard medication. It was red wine. Rodney pulled the bottle from Carson's hands and examined it. It was Beaujolais-villages, French wine.

"It's my favorite." Rodney's memory actually seemed to supply this new information with a far gentler hand than past revelations.

"Silly Ba'-heid. Take off that robe and lay down." Carson pushed Rodney towards the bed.

Rodney was a little flustered and a little confused but he obeyed Carson's demands, stripping off the robe and laying face down on top of his sheets. He sort of knew, in the very back of his mind, what was about to happen.

"The shirt," Carson said sternly and Rodney obeyed immediately, rolling to his side to strip of the gray tee shirt he had been wearing. He then lay back down on the bed.

His head pillowed on his arms, he watched as Carson removed small bottle of ointment from the black bag. He then removed two wineglasses. Carson poured the wine first, handing Rodney a glass. Rodney took a sip.

"This has to be the best prescription yet."

"Ye always tell me that," Carson chuckled softly as he poured ointment on his palm. He rubbed his hands briskly to warm it. Then Carson's hands were on his shoulders, firmly rubbing and kneading the knots from his tight muscles.

Ah, yes! This was stress management. It was wonderful. It was perfect. It was Carson's hands on his body. It was Carson's laughter in his ears. God, he loved him. Rodney thought he would explode if he didn't tell Carson how very much he loved him.

Carson continued his massage, talking to Rodney about his day and asking Rodney about his. Carson's fingers teased out all the tension in the muscles of Rodney's back while his voice eased the anxiety of Rodney's tried nerves. Soon Rodney found himself smiling, laughing, and sighing. He felt better from head to toe.

"Thank you," he whispered as his eyes closed.

"My pleasure, Love," Carson murmured in reply.

Rodney felt soft kisses touch the skin of his shoulders accompanied by the prickle of a face in need of a shave. The touch that had been therapeutic was no longer firm and insistent. It was now a sensuous stroke up and down his spine. Rodney sighed.

"Do ye want me to take care of ye tonight, Love?"

"Please," Rodney whispered.

Rodney lifted his hips as he felt Carson's hands go to ease his boxers down. He kept them up for a little longer as Carson placed pillows beneath Rodney's hips. Hands ran reverently down the curve of his spine and traced the swell of his buttocks. Rodney was growing breathless with passion as Carson teased him with touches.

Rodney felt kisses and bites against the flesh of each butt cheek as Carson's finger traced delicately downward, over Rodney's perineum to lightly tickle his sac. Rodney gasped and shivered. Then Carson's tongue was there, replacing his finger, licking a wet trail up from his balls, to the small puckered entrance of his body. Rodney turned his head into the bed to muffle the moan that escaped him.

"Don't hold back, Love," Carson said softly. "Ye know I like to hear ye."

Yes, Carson loved to hear him. He remembered it all now. Carson loved to hear him call out his name. He loved to watch him moan and thrash like a mad man, impaled on Carson's heavy shaft. Carson loved to complete the circuit by taking Rodney in his mouth until Rodney begged him shamelessly.

Then Carson loved to cuddle him, whispering endearments and listening to Rodney grump over them all night long. The love hadn't been a fantasy after all.

Carson used the ointment he had used earlier for the massage to prepare Rodney. He worked carefully, making sure to stroke Rodney's prostate a few times in a sweet promise of much more pleasure. Rodney relaxed, more than ready for his lover.

Carson was a lover. He was more so a lover than John had been. John had just wanted a little sexual gratification with his friendship. Carson wanted much more, Rodney now understood. There was a sweet exchange, deeper than friendship that happened when they looked in each other's eyes. There was an understanding of souls that was unique to love alone. Soul mate: that was the deeper understanding that Rodney had sensed during the beginning of his amnesia. Carson Beckett was part of his soul.

As Carson entered him in that ultimate attempt to make two beings one, Rodney sighed pleasantly, knowing he had found what he had always wanted. There was no place he would rather be, and he would never forget how it feels to be in love.

end


End file.
